Bullseye
by starophie
Summary: Callie is a moving target - and eventually, she knows, she's gonna get hit. She just hopes no one is behind her when she does. Set between 1a and 1b - canon-compliant post-"I Do".
1. Hope on Fire

i've been sitting on this story for a while, not knowing if it was too cliched or boring to post. i'm biting the bullet, though, so please let me know what you think/if you'd like me to continue.

i hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Gotta move, gotta choose, you've got a difference to make/Don't watch it happen again  
Gotta change, rearrange/Something's bending to break/It's just a matter of when  
Ooh, you're gonna make your mark this time/Ooh, you're gonna set your hope on fire_

Vienna Teng, "Hope on Fire"_  
_

* * *

I've got a bucket of giant moths in my stomach. I waited, on edge, until Mariana finally fell asleep. She wanted to talk about how much fun the wedding was, how proud she was of her moms - "Well, I mean, _our_ moms now, right?" - and I indulged her for a little bit, but then I feigned exhaustion and she turned out the lights.

Now she's breathing shallow and evenly, a few snores here and there, and I get dressed in the clothes I laid out and grab the bag I've prepared.

This day has been the worst kind of nightmare. I mean, I woke up this morning with the news that Jude and I would finally have a permanent family, and by the end of the day I'd ruined everything. I should have never kissed Brandon; I should've never let myself get attached to this place; I should've never come here at all.

Stef knew something was up with me. She pulled me in to dance with her at the party, and kept trying to get me to meet her eyes. I couldn't. She'd be so disappointed. And I just wish I could die, right now - sink into a blackened abyss and never be found. But disappearing is the next best thing.

It's the most unselfish thing I can think to do. If I killed myself, or otherwise died, the Fosters would have to pay for everything - a funeral, burial costs, etc. If I leave, and make it clear that I've left by choice, they'll be angry. Furious, actually. Jude's already mad at me, so that's no problem. Brandon will assume I've left because I don't love him, which will make him angry. That's two down. Mariana will get over it, Jesus has Lexi and Mariana, and the moms...I can't let myself dwell on how they'll react, as I just may lose my nerve altogether. I leave my cell phone plugged into the wall - if I take it with me, Stef will find me in a second. I bid everyone silent, final goodbyes, and leave 2330 Buena Vista St. forever.

It's a two-hours walk to Wyatt's motel, as I walk a fifteen minute mile when I don't have any luggage or fatigue. By the time I get there, the sun is up, and his car is practically loaded.

His face is surprised when he sees me, but fades to frustration when I ask him if he's got room for hitchhikers. Though I don't have any money, I tell him I'll take the bus instead, but I can't help but feel pleased and relieved when he pulls up at the curb beside me.

Our ride out of California is pretty much silent. I'm not sure if he's mad or what, but I'm too tired to start a fight. I nestle my head into the sling of the seatbelt, and fall asleep as we cross into Arizona. When I awake, we're at a rest stop in Phoenix. It's mid-afternoon, and Wyatt's coming back to the car with a grin on his face and fast food bags in his arms.

"I got some gas and brought us some lunch," he says, and I thank him quietly.

"You want a hamburger or cheese?" he asks.

"Which do you like better?"

He throws his head against the seat back. "C'mon, Callie, I'm trying to be a gentleman," he complains.

I crack a smile. "Hamburger, please."

"Good, 'cause I like the cheese," he says with attitude.

I smack his arm, but can't help my grin. Wyatt is the one person I've met, maybe in my whole life, who doesn't make me feel self-conscious. He can be totally oblivious, like when he took me to a house that didn't belong to him, or offered me a beer on the beach, but he's...comfortable. He's relaxed; he doesn't care what other people think. And he doesn't treat me with kid gloves, like most people who know I'm a foster kid do. I mean, foster parents definitely never treated me gently, but I feel like most people are afraid to say anything around me because I might lash out or become violent. They're scared of me, because I've basically been raised by wolves.

I feel a twinge of guilt that I may not feel for Wyatt how he feels for me. I like him, to be sure, but what exactly is love? I look at Stef and Lena and see-

I'm choking, and Wyatt looks over at me in distress. I take a big swig of his Diet Coke, swallow, and take another drink. I close my eyes, trying to even out my breathing, and slump against my seat tiredly.

"What the hell was that?" Wyatt asks. "You scared the crap outta me!"

"Sorry," I mumble. I shouldn't have thought about them, because I knew it would upset me. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, whatever you say," he jokes, and I am relieved that he's not going to pressure me.

"Thanks," I say.

"No problem," he answers, and I know he knows that it encompasses everything he's done for me. At this moment, I couldn't be more grateful to him for just being Wyatt.

In Phoenix, we take a hike up Camelback Mountain. Neither of us are exactly dressed for a hike, so we really just walk about a half-mile and then walk back. At the top of the trail, I wish desperately for a camera, but I remember that I left my phone behind.

"Here," Wyatt says, handing me his. "I want to remember this view."

I love that he can read me. I take a few shots - the ridiculously blue sky, the puff of cloud that looks like a star, the juxtaposition of the orange dirt against the chartreuse shrubs against the azure water. When I try to give him his phone back, Wyatt says,

"Hold it for me, would you?"

I nod, and we go back to the car.

'Same Love' comes on the radio, and I nearly make him crash as I jump over myself to flick the damn thing off.

"Callie, I think you should call-"

"No."

In Albuquerque, we go to the aquarium. It's closed when we get there at 10, so we crash in the car and go in when it opens at 9 the next morning. I take a few snaps of the jellyfish, the orcas, and a little sea otter. Wyatt keeps his face pressed against the manatee's glass until I force him to leave.

We stop in Amarillo that afternoon, and Wyatt takes me to Wonderland. I've never been to a theme park, and I must admit that funnel cake is delicious. We ride the Texas Tornado, the Drop of Fear, and the Fiesta Swing, before engaging in bumper cars (which he loved) and the Scrambler (which I loved). He tries to drag me to the mini golf course, but is sweetly understanding when I go pale at the thought.

"Callie, are you okay?" he asks, as my knees shake and I dash for the nearest trash can.

I nod pathetically, swallowing the bile and wiping my mouth, and he grabs my hand before I can tuck it away. "C'mon," he whispers. "We're done for the day."

Back in the car, he hands me his phone. "I know they miss you," he says.

"No, you don't."

"Just one call, to tell them you're-"

"Wyatt, no."

We get to Oklahoma City by sundown, and he springs for a sit-down dinner instead of another meal in the car. I feel gross - I haven't showered in three days - but he smiles at me, and I feel okay. That night, when I burst from my seat after another nightmare, he hugs me across the console and tells me it'll be alright. I choose to believe him, because I don't know what else to do.

"Don't you want to hear their voices?" he asks, the next morning. "It'll make you feel better."

"No, it won't," I say blandly. "It'll make me feel worse."

We don't pass directly through Springfield, so it's more rest stops and gas station bathrooms for us. In St. Louis, he takes us to the Loop, and we eat toasted raviolis on Blueberry Hill.

Before I know it, we're in Indianapolis, and we stop for lunch at a divey sports bar before finishing our last leg. It's Wednesday afternoon, and we're finally in Fort Wayne.

"That was fun," he says, and he gives me one of his dimpled grins. "You wanna do it in reverse?"

I sigh. "Wyatt, please let it go."

"Callie, they-"

"What?" I snap at him. "They _love_ me? After what I did? No way," I bite.

"They called me. I didn't answer, because I wanted to talk to you first, but they left a message. Several messages, actually," and he sounds concerned, one of his hands scraping his wavy hair off his forehead. "They don't care what you've done or thought you did. They just want you to come home."

At that moment, we turn onto his grandparents' street.

Wyatt's mom runs out of the house when he pulls into the driveway. I feel a twinge of grief when she hugs him close and tells him how much she's missed him. Her eyes pass over me, and she shoots him a look.

"Mom, you remember me telling you about Callie?" he asks her, and I feel bad for putting him in this position.

"Yes, of course," she says, dusting off a hand on the apron she's wearing. "I'm Elaine," she introduces herself, and I shake her outstretched hand. "It's nice to meet you, Callie."

"You as well, Mrs.-" I stop myself. "It's nice to meet you, Elaine."

"How long are you able to stay with us, Callie?" she asks politely, and I'm amazed at the generosity of her words.

"I-I'm not sure," I sputter. "Not terribly long."

"Well, we can discuss that later. For now, why don't you kids come inside? Dinner's not quite ready, so you can shower and unpack and I'll call you down when it is."

Wyatt grabs both our duffels, and I take a box from the hatch and follow Elaine inside. The house is...quaint, if a bit granny-ish. I realize why that is when I see a small, white-haired lady sitting on a floral loveseat in the living room.

"Hi, Granny," Wyatt exclaims, pressing a kiss to the wrinkled cheek.

"Wyatt, is that you? You're so tall!" she shouts back.

"Callie, this is my grandmother. Her name is Vivian," he introduces.

"It's very nice to meet you..." I say, unsure of her title.

"Call me Granny Viv, dear," she answers my unspoken question. "Everyone does."

"Where's Grandpa Hank?" Wyatt asks.

"Oh, he's doing fine, dear," Granny says, and Wyatt looks at me as if to say, '_Grandmothers, am I right?_' I've never had a grandmother, so I wouldn't exactly know, but I smile fondly at his obvious love for the older woman.

"I'm going to take a shower, if that's okay?" I ask him.

He nods, and I smile gratefully. "It was nice to meet you, Granny!" I say.

"You too, dear," she says, and beams at me. Then she continues talking to Wyatt, and I take both his and my bags upstairs. There's a room with the door open, and it's decorated in boyish blues. I realize that it must be Wyatt's room, and I wonder if he's lived here before, because there are bunk beds in it. Thanking every power that could've orchestrated this, I set his bag on the top bunk, grab a change of clothes, and head back down the hall to the bathroom.

I come out of the shower, and I hear voices down the hall.

"She can't stay forever, Wyatt," someone is saying, and I guess that it's his mom.

"She's not going to, Mom," Wyatt says. "Look, it's only for a little while, until I can get her moms to come pick her up. She thinks...she thinks they're better off without her or something stupid, but please, just let her stay. She can sleep in my room - don't worry, we're not together - and she barely eats, so it's not like it's that much more stress."

"What happened to her?" Elaine asks.

"I don't know," Wyatt says. "She's been hurt, Mom."

"And you'll call her parents?"

"Yeah," he says.

When I hear them go downstairs, I sneak into his room and grab his phone from his jacket pocket. I notice with a twinge of despair that there are a few missed calls from a number called "Callie," and as quickly as I can, I erase the call list and my number from his phone. I slip the cell back into the jacket, and sit on the edge of the bed while I dry my hair.

_She's been hurt, Mom._

Oh, Wyatt. You have no idea.

* * *

"Callie, dear," Granny Viv calls to me from the living room as I finish washing the breakfast dishes. In an unspoken exchange for room and board at Wyatt's grandparents' house, I do chores and errands during the day when Wyatt's in school and his mom is at work. Granny has very bad vision, and Grandpa uses a walker, so neither of them are particularly mobile. "I have a favor to ask."

"Coming!" I call back, and quickly wipe down the counter with a rag. I tread heavily across the pink carpet and into the doily-infested den, so Granny knows I'm on my way.

"What can I get you?" I ask her, taking a seat on a dainty ottoman.

"I need some food for the kittens," she tells me, "and also a few odds and ends from the drugstore. If I tell you the names, would you be able to get them for me?"

She's so sweet that even if I wasn't able, I'd try my best anyway. "Of course!" I say. "Let me get the pad from the kitchen."

Once I've grabbed the grocery list and a pen, I hurry back and let her know that I'm ready to transcribe. I flip the paper over so I can separate Elaine's list from Granny's.

"Two cans of Fancy Feast, but Ida Mae likes the Salmon and Shrimp while Mr. Whiskers likes the Chicken and Liver."

I try my best not to audibly wretch as I write that out. "Okay."

"Do you have that, dear? Okay, the next thing is some Vicks for Hank - he's been coming down with a bit of cold, and he likes to put that on his chest before he goes to sleep at night."

I will never understand the obsession with oversharing that most elderly people seem to have. "Got it," I say.

"And the last thing is some more of those twisty pads that you put in your underpants?" she questions, wondering if I know what she means. As it happens, I do, and I try not to blush and squirm. "You know, to catch it when you leak a little. My bladder ain't what it used to be!"

"Alright, Granny," I mumble, trying very hard not to die from embarrassment. "Do you need anything else? Can I bring you anything before I leave?"

"I don't think so, sweet pea," she says, and her gummy grin makes me forget that I was ever uncomfortable. I do love her, I think. Old people just have a way of making you feel so...appreciated. At least, Granny and Grandpa do.

Mr. Whiskers weaves around my legs as I'm leaving the room. He's a big, gray, fluffy thing, with white paws and nose. His sister, Ida Mae, is already lounging in Granny's lap, so he curls up at her feet. Ida Mae twitches her tan colored ears in my general direction, and I say goodbye to Granny and gather up my things.

"Callie!" she calls, as I'm heading out the door.

"Yes?" I yell back.

"Don't you need some money?"

I smile a little. "No, Granny, I have enough."

And then I'm out the door, locking it behind me.

I walk to the bus stop, tracing idle shapes onto my thighs as I sit under the overhang and wait. When the bus comes, I deposit my fare and then head to the furthest back window. It's not a long distance, but there are many stops and starts, so it takes roughly fifteen minutes to get to the little shopping center.

I've come to love running errands in the middle of the day. Hardly anyone else is in the stores, so I don't feel harried as my fingers skip languidly across the ripples of cans and brightly-colored packages. Elaine needs tomato soup, sandwich meat, dinner rolls, cereal, apples, celery, and a package of ground beef. Having shopped for and with cheapskate foster parents for years, I know where to find the best deals and how to get more for the money. I use the leftovers to buy Granny her cat food and the other things she needs.

Piling the various foodstuffs in my little cart gives me a strange sense of satisfaction, as if I'm doing real good. I know that I'm not, but that small bit of self-pride helps me cope with all the guilt I feel. I know I'm doing the right thing by staying away from Jude and the Fosters, I do - but there's a tiny voice inside me that keeps telling me I'm wrong. That I'm being selfish by leaving.

I shake my head as I begin to feel overwhelmed with emotion. I still need to grab Vaporub for Grandpa Hank, food for the cats, and candy for Wyatt and me.

When all my purchases are safely stowed in my backpack, I relax a touch. It's still early, so I decide to walk through the strip a bit, and maybe find some lunch to take back to Granny and Grandpa. There's not much here - a few fast food chains, a convenience store, and some little odds and ends shops. I peer into the window of a store called The Treasure Chest when I hear a familiar cry.

"Hey, you!"

My heart starts beating faster than ever, and I resist the urge to run because I know running makes you look even more guilty. The guy probably isn't talking to me, anyway - I haven't done anything wrong.

"Hey, you!" he says again. Only this time, he's right in my ear. I flinch, turn to look at him, see his badge, and bolt. "Hey!" he yells, but I'm speeding ahead.

I have no idea where I'm going, or how I'm going to hide, but I don't have time to think. I just do.

Quickly, I slip inside the nearest storefront. It turns out to be a tailor shop, and I thank the stars that granted me this luck. Quietly, so as not to be noticed, I sneak into one of the changing areas, and shut the curtain behind me.

There's a small ottoman inside, and I set my bag down and curl up on top of it. I wonder how long it'll take before the coast is clear.

"Hello, Officer. Can I help you?"

"Excuse me, have you seen a teenage girl in here?"

Obviously, pretty long.

"No, there's no one but me here."

"Do you mind if I look around?"

_Please mind, please mind, please mind_, I chant silently. My knees are pressed to my chest, and my arms wrap around my calves. I shiver.

"Of course not."

Awesome.

I hold my breath, but that nagging voice from earlier tells me to reveal myself. _"The sooner he finds you, the sooner you'll be home,"_ it baits me. "_He's a police officer, Stef's a police officer. She'll come get you, and this will all be over._"

One curtain opens and closes. Two curtains open and close. A third curtain opens, and I hide my face in my knees like I'm an ostrich, burying my head in the sand.

"C'mon, kid," he says, tugging my arm to get me to stand up.

"There's no need for violence," I spit, grabbing my backpack and walking ahead of him. I smirk to myself, hoping I'll piss him off enough on the car ride to get him to leave well enough alone.

No such luck. Once we reach the squad car, he puts me in the backseat, turns up the radio, and doesn't ask me anything until we reach his station. Then he makes me follow him through booking to the bullpen, where he pulls over an unoccupied chair and motions for me to sit.

"Why aren't you in school?" he asks bluntly.

"I don't go," I answer, semi-honestly.

"Are you aware that not going to school is illegal?" he questions.

"Not if you're over the age of sixteen, which I am," I counter.

"You'd still have to get a parent to sign off on that," he says.

"I don't have parents," I snipe.

"Legal guardian, then," he says. "Show me some ID, though."

"Why?"

"So I can prove you're sixteen!"

"I am sixteen!"

He seems to not care about that anymore, because he asks, "What school do you go to, kid?"

"This is a ridiculous line of questioning," I bluster, trying to get him to turn off the heat. "I've already told you the truth. I'm not in school, I'm over sixteen, and I've got people at home wondering where I am!"

"Until you can provide me with some valid ID, I can't take your word for it that you're legally out of school," Alex tells me.

"Wouldn't your time be far better spent catching _real_ criminals?" I jibe. "I mean, honestly, how much money a year is this precinct wasting on truancy officers?"

He glares at me, and I feel a small spark of pride inside me that I haven't completely lost my touch. I used to be really good at pissing off cops...Stef turned me soft, I guess.

Thinking about her makes my stomach knot, and in my distress I wince, just a little. But Alex seems to notice, because he rubs my arm in sympathy.

"You got any ID, kid?" And he's back to being gruff.

"No," I murmur.

"No driver's license? If you're sixteen, like you say, shouldn't you at least have a permit?" He jabs, trying to ruffle my feathers.

"I'm a foster kid," I practically growl. "We don't _get_ cars."

When his lips curl in satisfaction, I realize the gravity of what I've just said.

"Shit," I breathe out.

"So, foster," he says, and I lose it.

"Don't call me that!" I yell, standing up and putting my face right next to his.

"Hey, whoa," a quiet voice soothes, and gentle hands are tugging my shoulders backwards and guiding my body down to my chair. "Everything okay, Luchey?"

Alex nods. "Yeah, Cho."

The voice turns to me, and I'm struck by the kindness in her eyes. Except for Stef and Mike, I'd never seen those eyes from a cop - at least, not directed at me.

"I'm Olive," she says, stretching out her hand to take mine. I shake it, and she smiles. "Are you okay?"

I nod slowly. "Mm-hmm," I affirm.

"How about you take a walk with me, okay? Maybe some air will do everybody good."

I usually hate being babied, but Olive seems like she's just trying to help, and I still kind of want to punch Alex in the face. So I follow her beckoning hand and we walk out of the police station, past the lobby, and back outside. There's a small park next to the building, and we head over to the little trail that loops around it to walk.

"What's your name, kid?" she asks, once we've made it to the path.

"I can't tell you."

She bites her lip. "Okay. Where are you from?"

"I can't tell you that, either."

"You really don't wanna be found, huh?"

I sigh. "It's not that," I mumble.

"Then what is it?"

"I _can't_ be found."

"Why not?" Olive asks. She seems very nonchalant, like it doesn't matter either way to her if I answer. I guess that makes it easier, somehow, to tell the truth.

"Because I left for their own good."

"How's that?" She doesn't smile, doesn't laugh - doesn't make a face like Wyatt, doesn't balk like I expected.

"My bro-someone I care about, very much," I say, "finally told me the truth. I'm selfish, and I've been ruining things for him. We've been in a lot of foster homes, and we finally found the one that might just work, and I messed up. Again. So I left, so he could have a chance to be happy."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" I ask tiredly.

"What about your happiness?" She stops walking, and I have to turn around to look at her. "What about your chance?"

"I don't deserve one," I say with a shrug.

"That sounds like bullshit to me," Olive says.

"Well, it's the truth." I'm starting to get defensive again, so I resume walking. I hear her catch up to me, and she waits a beat before speaking again.

"What made this placement different?" She's trying a different tactic to get me to open up, but I take the bait anyway.

"The family...it wasn't like the others. They fought for us."

"And now you've decided they're not worth fighting for?"

I spin around, furious. "Don't you get it? _I'm_ the one that isn't worth it! I'm _worthless_!"

"You're not worthless," Olive whispers, and I flash back to the night Brandon and I rescued Jude. The first night Stef rescued me.

_"You're not disposable, Callie," she says, her blue eyes sparkling in the headlights' glow. "You're - you're not worthless."_

"Yes, I am," I tell her. I tell both of them. And then it's all over. The tears start, and I can't get them to stop.

"Hey, hey," Olive is whispering in my ear. "Shh, it's okay. Shh, kiddo."

I let her hold me as I cry, but when I'm finally done, she doesn't let go.

"Olive, I-" I start, trying to apologize.

"Shh," she murmurs. She turns me in her arms, and I have no choice but to look at her. Her dark eyes shine with emotion. "Look, babe," she says. "I know it's hard to fight. Trust me, I know. I know how easy it is to pick up and run. But the thing is, one day you hit a wall. A wall you can't climb, can't tunnel under, can't go around. And there's no question that your past is gonna catch up. So you have two choices - you can wait until they get here, or you can go back and fight."

She stands up, then, and I almost miss her tight embrace. But I pull myself together and stand up, too.

"You don't have to decide right now," she says. "Why don't we go back and see what Officer Luchey has been up to?"

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak, and she links arms with me as we make our way back to the station. Surreptitiously, I start wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket, hoping that no one else notices that I've been crying. When we enter the bullpen, hardly anyone looks up, and I feel a bit better that we've escaped much scrutiny.

"Luchey!" Olive calls, walking us back to Alex's desk. I notice he's got my backpack, and my hackles rise again.

"Hey!" I yell, snatching it from his grasp. "My Fourth Amendment rights protect me against illegal search and seizure!"

Alex shrugs. "Not my fault you left it there," he says.

I groan at him, and Olive laughs. But after a quick check, everything seems to be in order.

"Olive, is there a fridge around here? This meat'll spoil if I don't keep it chilled."

"Yeah, in the break room. Don't worry, I'll take it," she offers, and I hand her the two packages.

"Thanks."

"Nice keychain you got there," Alex says to me as Olive walks away. "That your school?"

I look at my bag and see the plastic rectangle with the Anchor Beach logo on it. White with a maroon border, it says "Anchor Beach Community Charter School" in maroon with a like-colored anchor tilted in the top right corner. I clutch it frantically, but try to act like I don't care.

"I told you, I don't go to school," I reply, and Alex chuckles. I frown at him, and then realize that I really need to go to the bathroom.

"Um, Alex?" I ask. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Down the hall to the left," he answers. I nod, standing up to leave, and then grab my bag.

"I'm not making the same mistake twice," I warn him. But his smirk makes me suspicious.

I use the facilities and wash my hands, but gaze into the mirror a bit to examine my reflection. I look okay, though my face is a bit pale and there are some crazy bags under my eyes. My lips are also a little chapped, but overall I'm fine. I splash some cool water on my cheeks and head back out to Alex's desk, where he's on the phone with somebody. My heartbeat quickens, and there's an uncomfortable tossing in my stomach that tells me something's terribly wrong.

"She went to the-oh, no, here she is now." Alex is saying. "Hey, kid," he turns to me. "There's someone on the phone for you."

I look at him blankly, but take the outstretched receiver from his hand. I feel like I'm about to faint or vomit.

"Hello?" I ask quietly.

"Callie? Oh, my baby, is that you?"


	2. Transcontinental

wow. definitely a much more positive response than i was anticipating! i'm glad you all enjoyed, and i hope you like stef's pov as much as you seemed to like callie's :)

as usual, nothing you recognize belongs to me.

* * *

_Please, don't let this line go slack/I want to bring you back to where I know you  
Oh, wait, don't give up on us yet/I just want you to let you let me hold you  
Wait, wait, wait, my love, just one more thought/Wait, wait, wait, my love, I haven't got  
Time in my life, to watch you drift away/But I've all kinds of time - all kinds of time - if you'll stay_

Vienna Teng, "Transcontinental (1:30 AM)"

* * *

Even though I'm finally back at work, I'm still restless and on edge. Perhaps some of that has to do with the fact that my older daughter is still missing, or that my youngest won't talk to anybody, or that my oldest has been brooding for fourteen solid days, or that my younger daughter hasn't eaten a full meal in a fortnight, or that her twin brother hasn't cracked a joke all month, or that my wife is a complete mess of emotions...

Yeah, okay, there are a lot of reasons to be on edge. I am so _mad_ at that girl, and so scared I'll never see her again, and so -

I get up from my desk and make my way to the break room for some coffee. I realize the absurdity of getting caffeine to soothe my jitters, but it's about the only thing I _can_ do that isn't paperwork. I hate paperwork.

The station is pretty much empty...everybody else is either off today or out on the beat, because it's literally me and three rookies in the bullpen.

I nurse my coffee quietly, leaning against the laminate countertop to rest a moment. Suddenly, there's a face in the doorway, and I smile at Officer Parker.

"Hey, Abby," I say. She's a sweet kid - a rookie, almost two years blue, and I like her a lot. She's determined and strong, but she cares about people, which is very important to me. She's a good cop. "What's up?"

She runs a hand through her dark, cropped hair, and I feel anxious. "I got an interesting call, just now, from a guy at the Fort Wayne PD?"

"Fort Wayne? As in-"

"Indiana," Abby confirms. My breath catches in my throat. "And he says he picked up this foster kid - a girl - about an hour ago, who he thought was skipping school. But the kid says she's sixteen, that she dropped out, and his partner took the kid out for a walk so he could check her bag for ID-"

"Why didn't he just ask her?" I feel riled; shocked and angry that this guy would invade my daughter's privacy (that's _my_ job), but then I realize that I don't even know if it is Callie. Please, god, let it be Callie.

"He says he did, that she told him she didn't have any."

I nod, knowing that we haven't had time to get Callie into driver's ed. I almost snort thinking how much longer it'll be before _that_ happens, after this stunt. "She doesn't."

Abby looks at me in what I take to be sympathy, and continues. "Anyway, the backpack had an Anchor Beach keychain on it, so he looked it up and called us, since it says on the website that the school is in San Diego."

I can't breathe. My whole body has shut down at the thought that this is maybe, probably, possibly my daughter, and that I know where she is and how to get to her. "Is he still on the phone?" I choke out, hoping the answer is yes.

When Abby nods, I race past her to get to the info desk up front. I pick up the receiver and take the call off hold.

"Hello?" I'm breathless and desperate, but I honestly could not care less what this guy thinks of me.

"Hello, I'm Officer Alexander Luchey with the Fort Wayne Police Department, badge number 32491," he tells me.

"This is Officer Stefanie Foster, San Diego PD," I introduce myself. "Do you have my daughter?"

"I sure hope so, ma'am," he quips, and I smile a bit. "This girl has been giving me grief all afternoon, and it sure would be nice to hand her back to someone who can deal with that. Handling teenage sass is not in my job description."

He sounds so serious and earnest that I can't help but chuckle. "That sounds like my girl," I say, and the smile slips off my face. "Can you give me a description?"

"Sure thing," he replies. "Let's see...shoulder-length hair, brown; close-set large eyes, also brown; Caucasian, female, approximately fifteen years old; um...oh, she had a scar - well, a dent, really - in the middle of her forehead, from the hairline down about half way."

That sounds like Callie, but I want to be sure. "Did you notice what she was wearing? Can you give me a description of the backpack and/or the contents?"

"Um, she has a hoop through the middle of her left ear," he says, and I gasp a little. "She's got a gray jean jacket on, and a sweater and some pants. Oh! And she kept fiddling with her necklace...it's gold, with a little medallion. I couldn't see what was written on it...just looked like a bunch of squiggles, to me."

It's her. It's got to be. "Can I talk to her?" I ask, my voice weak.

"She went to the-oh, no, here she is now," he says. I hear him talking to someone, but he must have muffled the phone because I can't make out what he's saying. There's an extended pause, and then the phone changes hands.

"Hello?" A soft voice comes over the line, and it sounds so much like Callie that I can barely control myself.

"Callie? Oh, my baby, is that you?"

The next pause makes me shake with fear. What if it isn't her? What if it is?

"Stef?" Her voice is so tentative, so unsure, that I am absolutely livid at the fact that I can't scoop her up in my arms right this second.

"Oh, my sweet girl," I breathe, feeling calm for the first time in roughly one-hundred and eighty hours. "Are you safe? Are you hurt? Have you been eating? I am coming to get you!" I'm babbling, something I rarely do, but there are so many things I feel as though I need to say to her, to make her understand... "You are in so much trouble, my friend, with your mama and with me. And with all your brothers and your sister, for that matter, but...you're coming home, sweets. It'll be alright."

"I'm...I'm sorry," Callie whispers, and my heart aches.

"I know, baby. It's okay. We'll talk about it when I see you."

"But I-" she stops, and I'm struck by a horrifying thought.

"You're _coming_ home," I intone, letting her know that there is no room for argument.

"Haven't you...you've been better off without me?" She asks this as a question, and I'm not sure what she's hoping the answer will be.

"Of course not!" I practically yell, but then realize that she's fragile enough. "Of _course_ not, Callie," I say, in a much nicer tone. "Oh, sweetheart...Lena misses you. Mariana and Jesus miss you. Brandon and Jude miss you. I miss you, so much. We're not a complete family without you, my baby."

"B-but-"

"We'll talk about this later, love. Later and forever and we may never stop talking about this, but we will never let you go. We love you, Callie. You know this, yes?"

The fact that she pauses breaks my heart. "Um..."

"It's alright, Callie," I say, trying not to let the sadness overtake my voice. "We'll work on it. Will you please put Officer Luchey back on the phone?"

"Stef?" she asks.

"Yes, my baby?"

"I really do...I mean, I want to...I didn't mean to ruin everything, again," she whispers, and tears fill my eyes. "I want to be better."

"Oh, Callie," I breathe. "I know. It's okay. We'll fix it, okay? We'll fix it together."

"Okay. Um, here's Alex."

The line changes hands, again, and the male officer I talked to before is back. "Officer Luchey?" I ask.

"Please, ma'am, call me Alex," he replies.

"Alright, then call me Stef. Listen, I'm ready to come and get her, but it takes a few days to get to Fort Wayne by car-"

I quickly pull up a list of flights from Lindbergh Field to Fort Wayne. There aren't any. I then look for any flights leaving from San Diego to Indiana.

"I can get to Indianapolis by 7 PM, your time," I tell him, tapping my foot nervously. "Is there any way Callie can get out there?"

"It's about a two-hour drive down," Alex says, "but I'm happy to take a road trip-"

He pauses, and I hear commotion down the line.

"Stef?" he asks. "Actually, my partner, Olive Cho, is more than willing to chaperone. Her brother and his wife live in Indianapolis, and she's going to surprise her nephews and niece with a little visit. Are you sure you can make it there tonight?"

I've never been more sure of anything in my life, I think. "Absolutely. Please, thank your partner for me. I'll see her tonight. Will you put Callie back on the phone?"

There's a beat before I hear, "Any instructions, Officer?"

I try not to laugh, as this really isn't funny. "You'd better get yourself to the airport in one piece, young lady," I scold, but I can't keep the lightness out of my voice. "I'll see you tonight. I love you, Callie."

"See you tonight, Stef. Bye."

"Bye, baby."

I hang up the landline, and speed dial my wife as I pull out my credit card to make the purchase.

"Stef?" Lena answers after the first ring.

"Hello, my gorgeous wife," I say, full to bursting with relief and anticipation.

"Stef, what happened?"

"I'm going to get her, Lena. She's in Fort Wayne, and I'm flying out there tonight. I'm going to bring Callie home, love," I get out, and the emotions finally overwhelm me. "Oh, Lena," I sob, thankful that no one is around to witness my collapse. "She sounded so defeated. She thought...she _honestly_ thought that we'd been doing well without her."

"Let me come, too," Lena demands. "Let me-"

"Lena," I interrupt. "We have four other kids that need you."

I hear her sigh, and I feel guilty.

"I would love to have you come with me, love," I tell her. "I would love to see the look on Callie's face as she receives her very first patented mamasandwich when we meet her at the airport. But I don't want to spook her, Lena," I murmur, hoping she'll understand. "She was so frightened."

"I get it," Lena finally says. "And she's more likely to open up to you, anyhow."

"That's not true!" I sputter. "I'm bad cop! You're understanding mama. There's no way-"

"Stef," Lena's laughing, a little. "She respects you. She knows that you respect her. I don't think...I don't think I've proven myself, yet."

"But...I...but," I stumble over my words, unsure how to convince my wife that she is the better half.

"Stef," she interrupts. "I'm okay. Book your flight, and we'll see you soon. Do you need me to bring you anything?"

I have roughly thirty minutes to get to the airport. I have an extra set of clothes in my locker, another in the trunk of my car, my wallet, and my badge. I would rather not have enough stuff than miss my chance to bring Callie home. "No, I'm fine. I wish I could kiss you goodbye, though."

"All the more reason to get that girl back here ASAP," she says. "And Stef-"

"Yes, love?"

"Tell her I love her."

"Oh, babe, of course. And I love _you_," I whisper, holding her voice close to me.

"I love you too. Safe travels."

"Thank you, Lena. Talk to you soon."

After I hang up the phone, I wonder about Callie. I wonder how she'll react to my questions - how she'll react to knowing that I'm done with letting sleeping dogs lie. There is no more time for secrets in this family, because secrets have been tearing us apart. First Mariana, then Jesus, then Brandon, now Callie...I chuckle darkly to think that the only child who hasn't been keeping secrets is sweet, loving Jude, who warmed up to us the very first time we met. How I wish Callie could've remained as innocent...how I wish I knew why Jude still was.

I remove my hair from the tight French braid that keeps it out of my face while I'm working. I pull my waves back into a ponytail and begin removing my uniform, replacing each piece with plainclothes from my locker. I take my badge off my belt, place my unloaded gun and holster on the top shelf of my cubby, and throw the duffel over my shoulder.

The drive is a blur, and I move mechanically through each phase of the airport. It's when I try to pass through security that I meet my first hurdle.

"Officer Stefanie Foster, SDPD," I explain to the surly TSA agent who pulls me from the line. "There's a bullet by my spine." I lift up my shirt, as if to prove it, but he continues to pat me down.

"Look," I whisper darkly. "I understand that you're just doing your job, but my flight leaves in fifteen minutes, and if I don't get on that plane, my daughter will-"

I choke back a sob. "Please," I beg. "Hurry."

His eyes flicker to my badge, then my face, then back again. "You're all set, ma'am," he tells me, and I race to grab my bag from the conveyor belt on the other side.

I'm thankful for the training course I had to complete before resuming my job, because if I had been out of shape at all, I would've missed my plane. As it stands, I get the very last aisle seat, right in the front, and I stow my duffel in the overhead compartment before sitting down and buckling the seatbelt across my hips.

There's a mother and baby sitting in the window, and a young boy sitting next to me. He's got the tray table unfolded, and he's running his toy cars across the surface.

I smile, thinking of Brandon when he was that age. He loved his matchbox collection more than anything. I wonder what Callie liked when she was five. My heart clenches to think of her, and I barely even notice the take-off.

Callie has been such a mystery since she came to us, and I want to figure her out before I see her again. I think back to the very first day we met.

"_So, you're dykes," Callie says, and I pull the beer can away from my lips. I barely even noticed her sitting there - she's been completely silent, watching us._

"_Who's this?" I ask the room, a bit stung by the severity of her words. Looking at her closely, though, there's no menace in her eyes. Her split lip, swollen cheek, and mottled complexion alert me to the fact that she's been in a fight, but I would like to know why and with whom. Did she instigate the attack? Why didn't anyone mediate before it reached a tipping point?_

_And her eyes...they're wide, and so dark. But they're soft, too...she doesn't mean what she's saying. I notice Lena trying to hold back a laugh, and I realize that she knows what I know - this girl, who I'll later learn is named Callie, is just trying to get a rise out of us._

She did, too, at least from me. Her sassy, sharp interruptions bothered me at first. And then I saw her with Jude, and I knew that she was a good person. No one goes out of their way - putting themselves in danger in the process - to protect someone else if it isn't love. The way she held him close to her, whispering soothing words of comfort in his ear, told me then that she knew how to love.

But now, it dawns on me that perhaps it doesn't go both ways. Maybe Callie does know how _to_ love, but I don't think she has any idea how to _be_ loved.

And suddenly, all the pieces fall into place. Her tentative smiles when we posed the adoption. Her terrified glances at us during that joke of a trial. Her flinches and shudders and retreats when we try to hug her, or cuddle, or display our affection for her. Why she was so uncomfortable buying a dress for the wedding. Why she went right to bed after telling Lena and me about Liam. Why Brandon - _oh_, dear. I wonder if Brandon knows that Callie is not in love with him. I wonder if Callie herself knows?

I have so much still to think about that it almost irks me when the plane begins to land. Then I realize that Callie will be there when I do. Callie will be safe in my arms once more. Callie will be _home_.


	3. Homecoming

hey friends! it's been eight days, so it's time for a new chapter :)

callie's pov is back, and i really hope you like the reunion! we got some more olive in this one, too, just because i luh her so. happy reading!

* * *

_Thin white terry, bars of soap, and a couple little plastic cups  
__Old Gideons' Bible in the nightstand drawer saying "Go on, open up"  
__Well, I'll kneel down on the carpet, here, though I never was sure of God  
__Think tonight I'll give Him the benefit of the doubt_

~ Vienna Teng, "Homecoming (Walter's Song)"

* * *

"You wanna listen to the radio?" Olive asks.

I shake my head.

"You wanna grab a bite to eat?" she asks.

I shake my head again and pull my leg up to my chest, heel resting on the seat beneath me.

My companion sighs - not very loudly, but I have good ears. One of her hands dangles out the window of the pickup cab while the other loosely clutches the steering wheel. She seems relaxed, but something's bothering her.

"I'm sorry you had to babysit me," I say softly. She waited with me at Wyatt's until he got home, so I could say goodbye. I gave Granny the groceries and said goodbye to her, too. I'm really gonna miss them.

"It's not babysitting." Her voice is callous, but her lips curve upwards. "Besides, I'm long overdue for a kiddo snuggle."

"Tell me about your family," I ask, trying to make my voice sound offhand.

"Well, I have one older sister and one older brother," Olive says. "My sister lives in Atlanta, and my brother, obviously, lives in Indianapolis. My sister is the oldest, but she didn't want kids."

"Why not?"

Olive shrugs. "Same reason people _do_ want kids, I guess. Just the right fit."

"Do you want kids?" I ask suddenly.

"Yeah, I think so," Olive replies with a grin. "But not for a while."

"I'm not having kids," I declare.

"Why not?"

I smile uncomfortably. "Didn't you just answer that?"

"Well, even my sister had specific reasons. What made you decide that?"

"I don't want to risk it," I answer truthfully.

"What's the risk?" she asks, and she sounds believably puzzled.

"Well, what if something happened to me, and I couldn't take care of them? They'd end up in the system, same as me," I say. "Plus, I don't have a future. I'm gonna be working low-level, minimum-wage jobs for the rest of my life. Kids shouldn't have to live with that."

"That's bullshit," Olive laughs, after a beat. I hug my knees to my chest, hurt, but she continues. "C'mon, Callie. First of all, I'm sure that your parents would take care of your kids if something happened to you. They love you, and grandkids are like an extension of that. And if something had happened to them, one of your brothers or sisters would take them. I mean, I couldn't stand my brother growing up, to be sure, but if something happened to him and his wife? I would gladly adopt my niece and nephews. That's what family does," she explains.

I sit there in silence, still feeling wounded from her laughing at my bleak circumstances.

"I don't believe for a second that you have no future, by the way," she says, flicking her blinker and merging into our exit lane. "If you had no future, you'd still be stuck in my precinct right now with Alex, trying to convince him that you weren't a truant. You're smart, and passionate, and you have something to fight for. You're not dying, Callie. You're gonna make it."

I hold tightly to my shins as we near our destination. On the one hand, I want to see Stef and Jude and Lena and everybody so bad it physically hurts. On the other, I want to make Olive pull the car over and let me escape. I've never been good at confrontation, and knowing that I might actually have to participate in this one, instead of lying down and taking what's handed to me, scares me to pieces.

"You're gonna make it, kid," Olive whispers, and she weaves into the pick-up lane at Indianapolis International Airport. She parks, and gets out of the car. I am frozen. I feel Olive staring at me through the windshield, and then I hear my door yanked open.

"Get out of the car," she tells me. I bury my face in my knees.

"Callie, for god sakes, get out of the car!" She says, frustrated.

"I can't," I mumble. "I'm scared."

I feel a hand on my arm, and I am tired of being pitied.

"Stop it, Olive! I don't want your sympathy! I'm too fucked up, okay? Just take me back to Fort Wayne, I'll grab a train or a bus or something. Can't you see that I'm a disaster waiting to happen? Please, let's just go!"

"Callie." My angry force-field dissolves at the sound of that voice. Because it isn't Olive, grasping my arm. It isn't Olive Cho, no - it's Stefanie Marie Elkins Foster. And I am Callie Jacobs, used-to-be-soon-to-be Callie Jacobs Foster, and I am an idiot.

I don't want it to be her. I don't want to look up and see the hurt and betrayal I've put into her eyes. I don't want to listen to her say I'm no longer welcome in her family. I don't want to feel her touch, light and delicate, that burns like hellfire on the flesh of my soul.

"Look at me, love," she commands, and I am helpless but to obey.

I turn my head away from my knees and meet her gaze. Her eyes are filled with tears, and a cold hand grips my heart and squeezes. Ever so carefully, she reaches across my huddled mass and unbuckles my seatbelt. As it springs back into place, she tugs me out of the car. I am a limp noodle - I have no strength left to fight. So I let her bring me to a standing position, and I mentally prepare for the attack soon to come. I try to remember the mantra I had before Jude and I came to the Fosters - the one that kept me strong through beatings, harsh punishments, starvation, and even Liam. _No matter what happens, don't let them see you cry._

I blink slowly, savoring the feeling of my eyelids pressed together. I stand ramrod straight, willing my body to convey poise and courage I do not myself feel. And I stare straight ahead, as if daring Stef to come at me.

It happens so fast. A blue and blonde ball speeds towards me, clutching me to her chest and hugging me fiercely. Stef did come at me, but not how I expected. Her arms are wrapped around my waist, one hand sliding up to cradle my back and shoulders. There is no air space between us, but if I'm being honest with myself, I don't mind at all.

I used to think I didn't like being touched - my dad was violent. Jim hit me, as did so many foster dads before him. Liam raped me. Innumerable situations that were out of my control involved inappropriate personal contact. The only person I liked to have close to me was Jude, and he was always a touchy-feely kid - ruffled hair, arms wrapped tight around my waist - so I didn't mind indulging him most of the time. But once I came to the Fosters…

Lena has little strokes. A hair pat here, a wrist touch there. Stef's gestures are more bold - a shoulder squeeze, several kisses on the cheek or forehead right in a row. Brandon has side-hugs and knee-knocking; Jesus is all over the place, and will bear hug you and pick you up off the ground as soon as he will just give you a little smile and a fistbump. Mariana is sensitive...I know that, now. She is afraid of rejection, so she acts bratty and mean to make up for it. But when she is sure you're not gonna dump her, she's very affectionate. A little hair twirl, a quick shoulder nudge, and sometimes even warm hugs that rival her twin's and Mom's.

Thinking on that, I wonder what her reaction will be. We had gotten close, being roommates and all, and she made me promise that I understood her when she said,

"You know we've got you. Right?"

I try to yank myself out of Stef's grasp. It's easier to hide than to face your problems, and I am all for the easiest out right now. But she won't let go.

"Let go," I moan weakly. I feel my nose tingle with suppressed emotion. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_. "Please, Stef, please!"

"Never again. Never again, my love. Oh, my baby, don't you know you belong with us?"

I notice how she says "_with_ us" and not "_to_ us." I am confused.

"I don't belong to you, I belong to _me_. I belong to Jude!" I say, trying to get her to admit her mistake.

"Honey, no…you may belong _to_ anybody you choose, or not," she murmurs into my hair, her warm breath tickling my scalp. "But when I say you belong _with_ us, I mean Jude, and Brandon, and the twins, and Lena and me. I mean that you're a part of this family now, sweets, and we're not letting you go _ever_ again. We're in this forever."

I remember Stef's words to me on the phone earlier. She keeps saying she'll never let me go, but she doesn't know the real me. I can't have this conversation in front of Olive, though, so I nod into Stef's shoulder and she slowly loosens her grip. She still has an arm firmly across my shoulder, and I know she's ready to tackle me like a perp if I run again. I take a deep breath and try to look relaxed.

"Thank you for bringing me down, Olive," I say quietly.

"It was really nice to meet ya, kiddo," she says, and I honestly feel like she means it.

"Thank you so much," Stef says, and steps us forward so she can shake Olive's hand. "If you ever need anything from the SDPD, please give me a call," she says, handing Olive a business card. "Or really, anything at all. You brought my wife and me back one of the five most important creatures in our lives, and we will forever be grateful."

I swallow hard, trying not to let those words affect me. I am so preoccupied with telling myself it's okay that Stef soon won't feel that way that I miss the farewells. When next I'm aware of my surroundings, we're in a central food court area of the airport.

"I would normally try to get settled first," Stef is saying, "but I'm so hungry right now that finding a hotel is a next to impossible goal. What are you in the mood for, sweets?"

"What?" I ask, completely bewildered.

Stef looks at me strangely. "I was just saying that before we find a place to crash tonight, I'd like to get some food in our bellies. I'm starved - aren't you?"

Before I think about it, I shake my head. I need to talk to her first. "No, not really," I say, lying through my teeth. I haven't eaten at all today except a few slices of toast at breakfast. My stomach decides that it doesn't appreciate lying, because it chooses that exact moment to gurgle and roar like I haven't heard since before the Fosters.

"You and Mariana are such a pair, I swear," Stef is muttering under her breath, and I have no idea what she means, but it doesn't really matter because she's dragging me across the lobby to the little burger stand in the middle of the hall.

"You're gonna have to eat something," Stef says, "so either you can pick, or I'll pick for you."

I let Stef order first - double patty, cheese, tomato, onion, no lettuce, extra pickles - so she can't interrupt when I order my plain burger, no fries, and a small water. Glaring at me, Stef goes to pay, and I quickly grab the numbered stand the cashier holds out to us and scurry to an empty two-seater booth.

"Oh-ho, you think you're so clever?" she asks me, but I think it's a rhetorical question. "Never try to outwit the Mom, my friend." She plops the receipt down in front of me, and I groan. She went ahead and got my burger with lettuce, double onions, no pickles, and mustard, no ketchup.

"How do you even-"

"You're my kid, Callie," Stef says, and she looks almost...hurt? that I would question how she knows what I like on my burger. "We've gone out for burgers a couple of times, and you always get the same thing. I also got you onion rings."

"But those cost extra," I say nervously.

"Like a dollar," Stef shrugs. "No biggie."

"But...Stef, I-"

The cashier is standing by our table, two red baskets of greasy road food in his grasp. He sets our food down in front of us and takes the number away, and after pulling a wad of napkins from the dispenser, Stef tucks in. But I'm nauseated at the sight. I can't eat - I feel far too guilty.

"Eat, Callie," Stef directs, her mouth full of french fries.

"I can't," I say. "I have to talk to you first."

At that, Stef sets her burger down. She wipes her fingers off, sits back, and looks at me. "Okay," she says slowly. "Go for it."

I take a breath, completely unsure if I'm doing the right thing. "I have to tell you about the reason I ran away. I...well, I made a promise to Jude. I promised him something I knew would be devastating for me, but I did it anyway because I ruin everything for him. He deserves to be happy. I...Jude, at your wedding, he-" I begin to stutter, suddenly terrified of Stef's reaction. But I look at her, and her posture is relaxed. Her face is calm. And I know what I have to do.

"When I was trying to figure out if I was going to go through with the pre-trial, Brandon talked to me a little. And he said that I deserved justice. And I wanted to thank him for that, for...believing in me, because he almost always has. And we were talking, and then all of a sudden-" I can't believe it, but I'm starting to cry.

"I kissed him, we kissed, and I-god, I know it was wrong but it happened anyway, and then Jude saw us and yelled at me and I just want him to be safe and happy and loved, something he'd never really known before we came to you, and if I can't be with you, I shouldn't be with him, because he truly deserves a family like yours."

Stef is just sitting there, and I'm crying, wiping my nose with my sleeves, and Stef hands me a folded Kleenex from her pocket quietly so I can blow my nose. I blot my eyes with some napkins, and I have calmed down significantly.

"I'm not entirely sure what you expect to happen, Callie," Stef says measuredly. "But I can tell you one thing - there is no way in _hell_ that Lena or I are letting anyone take you and Jude away from this family."

I clench my fists, because I am so tired of being misunderstood. "No, that isn't what I mean," I say tensely. "It's not me _and_ Jude anymore, okay? It can't be. You have to keep Jude, and I'll go wherever they throw me. It's not that big of a deal as long as Jude is with you."

Stef looks mad, and I worry that maybe I've crossed a line. I know she doesn't appreciate smart-mouthing, but that wasn't what I was trying to do!

"Of course it's a big deal, Callie! _You_ are a big deal! You think I would've come six hours by plane - eight, if you're counting the time difference - just to turn around and leave you here because you made a mistake? Which I already knew about, by the way, because Brandon felt so guilty by the next morning that he told me the whole thing. He has a slightly different version of it, though - he says that he kissed you."

I'm flustered and upset, and so I lash out. "Well, typical Brandon! Trying to spin it so he takes most of the blame. It's not true, Stef - _I_ kissed _him_. I am the seductress. I am the law-breaker. Send me to a group home, send me back to juvie; whatever, okay? I screwed up! It's what I do."

Stef exhales. "It's what teenagers do, honey. And here's what parents do: love their children regardless. And that's what Lena and I will do for you, if you let us."

"But one day, you won't," I say, and my voice is barely a whisper. "One day, you'll change your mind. I'll do something wrong again, and Jude's gonna have to suffer the consequences too!"

I see understanding in Stef's eyes, now, and fall back against the vinyl-covered bench.

"Nothing you do will ever reflect badly on Jude," Stef says slowly. "That much I can guarantee. But I can also guarantee you this, Callie: nothing you could do - could do, have done, or have had happen to you - would make us think less of you or love you any differently. You ran away, and I came to get you. If you failed a test, Lena would help you study for the next one. If, god forbid, you killed somebody - I'd have to arrest you, but we'd pay for the best damn lawyers around, and make sure that jury knew he deserved it!"

Stef and I are both laughing at the absurdity of this statement when a sudden memory makes me falter.

"What's wrong, Callie?" Stef asks softly, rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb.

"Nothing," I say, not ready to share my past in the middle of an airport in Indiana. "I mean, um, I'll tell you later, I just...I don't wanna do this here." I look around, hoping she'll understand my hesitation, and to my relief she does.

"That's fine," she nods. And then, acting as if we haven't just had a life-altering conversation, she picks her burger back up and resumes eating with relish. "Eat," she commands, and with a joking sigh, I do.

* * *

The motel is sleazy as I've ever seen, but we're only staying the night. Stef asked for only one key, and I think she's afraid I'll try to run again if she lets me out of her sight. Though the independent spirit in me is annoyed at her lack of faith, there's a small, childlike flicker of warmth in my heart that she cares enough to want me to stay. I follow her inside, and plop down on the bed face-first.

Stef drums on my back. "Don't go to sleep," she says. "We've got to talk."

I roll over, and my head ends up in her lap.

"Hi," she smiles down at me.

I blush and sit up quickly, distancing myself from her by crossing my legs and sitting with my back against the wall.

"So, what was wrong earlier?" she starts, once it's clear that I am not gonna say anything. "What were you thinking of?"

"Did Bill tell you what happened to our mom?" I ask her.

Stef shakes her head. "No, not really. He just mentioned that she died when you were ten, and that your father was out of the picture."

I nod slowly, trying to figure out my next words. "Okay. That's...yeah, okay," I give a hollow laugh at Bill's description of the situation. "Well, my dad was out of the picture because he's in jail. Or, I mean, he was - I'm not sure if he still is." I look at Stef, and she seems to be waiting for me to give more information. "He's in jail because...because he was the one driving the car that killed my mom. And he crashed into another car, and everyone in that car died…so he got charged with manslaughter for driving drunk."

"Oh, Callie, I'm sorry," Stef whispers, reaching out a hand to me. I squeeze it, but I can't have her pity me or I'll break down and I won't be able to finish.

"Jude thinks that he just made a mistake, a really big mistake," I say, pulling my hand from Stef's and running it through my hair. "He would always be really excited to go visit him - he'd say that when Dad got out, we could be a real family again. I knew that was never gonna happen."

"Why not, sweetheart?" I notice that Stef uses endearments more often when we're visibly upset, and somehow that breaks my heart even more.

"Because what Jude doesn't know about our dad is that he's just as bad as every foster dad we've ever had. Only, I think it's worse, because he's our real dad, and he beat us up too."

"Beat who up?" Stef asks, and though her voice is still quiet, it's steely.

"Me and Mom," I croak. "Jude was just a baby, so little that he probably doesn't remember much of anything. I try to tell him about Mom as much as I can, but...I don't want him to know about the bad parts."

"Oh, honey," Stef's voice is breaking too, and it tears me up inside. I never wanted to tell anyone about this - I don't want them to hurt for me.

"I guess protecting Jude by myself was easy when we went into the system, because I'd been doing it my whole life. Sometimes Mom would be too tired to care for him, so I'd play with him and feed him and give him his bath at night. Then we'd crawl into bed with her, while Dad was still out drinking, and she'd sing to us before we went to sleep."

"I used to take punishments for him," I say tiredly, as if the memories themselves are draining me of energy. "He was so small for a six-year old - he wasn't very healthy, and he wasn't very strong. So anything he did wrong, I'd take the fall for."

I can't bear to look at Stef's face. I just barrel on.

"I was thinking about the night Mom died," I say. "I was thinking about how I'd heard that my father was the one driving from the cops that were milling around the ER. And I remembered something I'd heard him yell at her when they were fighting - he told her that anything he did to her, she deserved. That we got beaten because we deserved it."

My voice is cracking, and I'm trying not to remember being that ten-year old in a hospital waiting room, having to take care of my distraught little brother as well as myself. I'm trying to remain calm, but I'm not doing a very good job. I loved my mom, so very much, and I have held onto the belief that I could've done something to stop my dad. I'd give anything to see her again - to tell her I'm sorry.

"And maybe that's carried with me all this time. Maybe subconsciously, I hear his voice in my head telling me that I deserve what happens to me in life. I don't wanna listen to it anymore, Stef," I say, my eyes blurry with tears. "I don't want to hurt anymore. I want to be happy, but I can't!"

Stef is wrapped around me before I can blink. "Shh, my baby," she murmurs in my ear. "It's gonna be alright. You are so loved, my sweet girl, you know? You have three brothers and two mothers and one sister who all love you more than this whole world. Shh, now, it's okay."

For some reason, though I'm not sure why, I don't have any trouble believing her.


	4. Lullabye for a Stormy Night

ah, the penultimate chapter. sad how that comes about, isn't it? don't worry, though - this chapter and the next are doozies. aw, and lena's perspective was really fun to write! she's so great :)

hope y'all like it! i do ;)

* * *

_Little child, be not afraid/Though thunder explodes, and lightning flash  
Illuminates your tearstained face/I am here tonight  
And someday, you'll know/That nature is so/And this same rain that draws you near me  
Falls on rivers and lands/On forests and sands  
And makes the beautiful world that you'll see/In the morning_

~ Vienna Teng, "Lullabye for a Stormy Night"

* * *

I shut off my car and take a deep breath. I just finished dropping Jude off at Connor's house, making uncomfortable small talk with his mother who was obviously trying to impress me. I generally don't like talking to other parents, especially when said parents pay my salary - it's awkward and strange and I'd have much rather gotten down on the floor and played Legos with Connor's little siblings, but they were hurriedly ushered upstairs when Jude and I got there.

Mariana went to the mall with Kelsey and some other girls, because even though Stef and I are both very anti-Kelsey these days, I needed her to be out of the house. Supposedly they're having a sleepover at Annabel's, which is good. Brandon went to Aiden's house, and Jesus went to an away volleyball tournament. He was very understanding about us not coming with him.

"Mama, chillax," he said. "Just think of all the fun stuff I'll be able to do without my moms breathing down my neck!"

I whacked him upside the head, but I was grateful for that. One of the best things about Jesus is his immortal sense of humor.

When I unlock the door, I walk in to an empty house. Silent, devoid of children. Just two weeks ago I would've given anything for a day like this, but now, it feels bleak and lonely.

I've been on edge since Stef called me from work - no amount of pacing or writing lists has helped me compartmentalize my feelings. I know, in my head, that it made sense for Stef to go alone. It was a last-minute decision, and I was needed here. Until Jude is legally a Foster, and no longer a foster, I can't leave him alone. And even so, he's been a wreck too. He begged me to let him stay, but we talked about how Callie needed to rest a little before she dove into the deep end.

As I sat with him last night, reading quietly from one of Callie's worn paperbacks, he kept looking at me like he had something to say. I asked him if anything was wrong, but he just bit his lip and shook his head.

"I love you, Jude," I whispered as I kissed him goodnight.

His eyes filled with tears as he said, "I love you, too."

I putter around the house for a while, folding towels and fluffing the pillows on Callie's bed. Finally, I take a book into the living room and start to read on the couch. But the fifth time my eyes stray from the words on the page to the window behind me, I give up. I set the book aside, clutch a pillow to my chest, and wait.

* * *

"Honey, we're home!"

Stef's voice feels so welcome against my ears. I heard them pull up the drive, but I didn't want to startle Callie by running out there and planting kisses all over her face. Some other time, I think, because I'm sure her blush would be adorable. But for now, I want her to feel as comfortable as possible.

"Stef," I say, coming into the foyer from the living room. "Hello." I kiss her gently, having missed her company beside me for the past two nights. Then I turn my attentions to Callie, who's standing close enough to the door to make my heart beat double-time.

I can't help myself. My face breaks out in a huge grin, and tears flood my eyes as I look at her. She looks exhausted, sad, and embarrassed, but I have never seen a prettier sight (except perhaps Stef on our wedding day). I hold my arms out to her and ask, "Can I hug you?"

She smiles nervously, but nods, and Stef gives her a little push as I rush forward to lock my arms around her. I can't stop myself from kissing her head and rubbing her back, as if to reassure myself that she's really here. That she's really _home_.

"Callie, sweets, why don't you go upstairs and unpack? Mama and I are gonna get lunch started, and we'll call you when it's ready."

I look at Stef, not wanting to let Callie out of my sight, but she tells me with her eyes that something is wrong. I disentangle myself from my daughter and give her one last peck on the cheek.

"Alright, you heard Mom," I say, but my voice sounds more sad and less joking than I'd intended.

Callie takes her bags and goes upstairs, and I watch her back until I hear her and Mariana's door open and shut.

"What's wrong, Stef?" I ask quietly, following my wife into the kitchen.

"It's been a hard couple of days, Lena," she says, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and pouring herself some water. "That girl…" she sighs and rubs a hand across her face. "That girl has been through more than we could've imagined. Even more than what's listed in her file."

I drop down onto a stool, stunned. "There's _more_?" I ask softly, not wanting to believe it.

Stef nods. "Apparently, in addition to having multiple abusive foster fathers, which we suspected but couldn't confirm, her and Jude's _biological_ father was also an abusive alcoholic."

"Oh my god," I whisper. "So she and Jude were-"

"Well, not Jude. Just Callie." Stef answers my unfinished question, and her frown tells me there's more to that story.

"Why not Jude?" I ask.

She tilts her head to me, and I think I know the answer. "I've never seen that kind of love before," she tells me. "Not from siblings, anyway."

My heart breaks. "Oh, Callie," I moan, heart full of anguish for her and anger at anyone who would dare to lay a hand on my children.

"Their father murdered their mother," Stef goes on, and my stomach sinks like a rock.

"Oh, _god_," I say. "How?"

"He was drunk and crashed their car. He got gross vehicular homicide - ten years - for killing another family as well as his wife."

"Ten years, that's-"

"He'll be out in four. Yeah," Stef says. "But I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"Why not?" I stare at her blankly. Surely, if I were in jail, the first thing I'd do when I got out would be to find my kids.

"Callie says she and Jude used to write him letters, but he stopped answering when she was about twelve. I don't think he cares, to be honest. And if he does come looking for Jude, I'll hit him with a restraining order. He's not gonna touch my babies," Stef growls.

I love it when Stef gets into Mama Tiger mode, but I'm still concerned.

"But, the adoption," I protest, my voice faint at the thought of losing Callie and Jude forever. "How can we-"

Stef's face is tired, and I suddenly realize that she's as scared as I am.

"I'm sorry, Stef, I'm just-" I try to explain, but she's right there, her nose against mine.

"I know, love," she whispers, her breath warm on my mouth with coffee and tenderness. "We'll talk to Bill, okay? We'll talk to CPS and figure something out. We'll make this work."

I nod, our foreheads brushing lightly, and she leans in to kiss me.

"God," I groan, her lips tugging away from mine at last. "I have missed you."

She chuckles, her throat vibrating against my shoulder. "I missed you too, Lena."

* * *

Lunch is a quiet affair, regardless of how often Stef and I try to start conversation. Callie isn't closed off, per se - she's much more relaxed with her body, and she doesn't give off that protective and angry vibe so much anymore. But she doesn't want to talk about silly stuff.

Watching her out of the corner of my eye, I notice her open her mouth several times, as though she's trying to work up the courage to say something. Stef is going on about some story they heard on the radio on the way home from the airport, and I want to shush her but I know Callie will clam up immediately. So I eat my sandwich and wait.

"I'm really sorry," she bursts out, cutting Stef off in the middle of a rant about bungee-jumping squirrels or something. I lay a hand on her arm.

"For what, Callie?" I ask. There are myriad things I imagine she's sorry for, but none of them warrant an apology at this point.

"For running away. For not…" she takes a breath, seemingly steeling herself for what she's about to say. "For not considering your feelings when I did. I guess trying not to be selfish ended up being selfish anyway, huh?"

"Selfish?" Stef asks in confusion. I know my face mirrors hers. "Who said anything about being selfish?"

Callie looks like a deer in headlights, and I wonder if we were already supposed to know about this. "Callie, did someone say you were selfish?" I ask her.

She bites her lip, and I can tell that she's afraid of answering.

"Honey, you're not in trouble," Stef tries to comfort her.

"Jude," she murmurs. My eyes widen in recognition, and I curse myself for not pushing him last night.

"That's what we argued about, after Brandon and I...he said it was like before. That I don't care about him," she chokes out, and I know those words wound her like nothing else he could've said. That girl would've laid down her life for her brother if given the opportunity. I never thought I'd feel this way, but I'm a little upset with Jude. "He said that I was gonna ruin this, just like I ruined it at the Olm-"

Her voice cuts off, and Stef and I gasp simultaneously. Callie didn't want Jude to know the truth about what happened with Liam, so Stef and I never told him. We told the big kids not to either. And I guess he really never figured it out, because he would've never said that to Callie if he knew the honest truth.

"Oh, Callie," I say, holding her hand in both of mine. She turns her head to me, and her eyes are as big and vulnerable as they were on the day I first met her.

"It wasn't my fault," she whimpers, and I can't resist the urge to hug her.

"No, sweetheart, of course it wasn't," I say, shooting Stef a worried look over Callie's shoulder. My wife looks about to cry herself. "Don't ever think that way, Callie, please. Jude didn't know. That doesn't excuse what he said, but-"

"Of course it does," Callie disagrees, pulling away from me and rubbing her eyes. "He had every right to say what he did. I was being selfish with Brandon, and I should've known better with Liam."

"Callie, hey," Stef says strongly, drawing Callie's attention. "That is _not_ true. You were fourteen with Liam - you were a child. Even if you had known better, that does not excuse his behavior. He was nineteen; an adult. He took advantage of your situation and your age, and that is never okay. Do you understand me?"

Callie nods.

"Good. Because you can never be faulted for someone else's mistake. When I think of what he did to you…" Stef clenches her fists. "I really wanna go work out. With a punching bag. And a picture of his face."

Callie giggles, and Stef smiles softly.

"As for what happened with Brandon," she continues, and Callie goes rigid in her chair. "We're gonna find a good family therapist that the three of us can see to work on some of these things. Maybe we'll get some of the other kids involved, too, if that's okay - just so you can get so sick of hearing how much we all love you."

Callie nods, but I can see that she's not entirely thrilled at the idea. "Okay," she says.

Stef raises one of her eyebrows at me, and I nod. "Okay, Callie," I say quietly. "We were gonna wait until a little later to talk about this with you, but I think maybe it's best that we get this all out of the way while we're talking about less than pleasant things."

She's still stiff, and I rub her arm a bit to relax her.

"Mom and I have been talking about you running away," I say, gauging Callie's reaction. She's thin-lipped and tense, but she seems alright. "And while we understand why you did it - probably better now than before, so thank you for sharing with us - we want to make sure that you never do anything that reckless and heart-attack-inducing again. So we've come up with some punishments for you."

"Okay," Callie answers, her voice small.

"The first part is about you running away," Stef butts in. "You're gonna be on restriction for two weeks."

Callie furrows her brow. "Is that like being grounded?"

Stef chuckles, somewhat evilly, and I'm reminded that she can be devious when she wants to be. "Oh no, honey. You're not grounded. But you won't have access to your shoes for the next two weeks."

"If I don't have shoes, how can I go anywhere?" Callie asks, bewildered.

"I guess you won't be able to," Stef answers.

"So, I'm grounded," Callie says.

"No, you're not grounded. Just on restriction."

Callie tosses her head back and groans, and Stef and I both laugh at the typical teenage reaction.

"In all honesty, Callie," I say, once I've controlled myself. "It would make both Mom and me feel a lot better if we could see you. When we woke up and you weren't there…" I'm trying not to rehash the past weeks or make Callie feel guilty (more than she does already), but I've only been more scared once in my life; when I thought Stef might not make it. "God, we were terrified."

She nods, and I can tell she gets it. "The other part is to remind you that what you do has an affect on all of us, and we all were hurting while you were gone. Each of us - that is to say Mom, me, Brandon, Jesus, Mariana, and Jude - wrote something we want you to remember. So you're gonna copy these six lines," I pull a folded piece of paper from my sweater and hand it to her, "100 times. Seven for each of us, times fourteen for the number of days you were gone, plus two to make it even. You'll have a lot of time in the next two weeks to do this, so don't worry about finishing it all right now."

Stef grabs our empty plates and takes them over to the sink. I scoot my stool closer to Callie's and wrap an arm around her shoulder.

"We love you, Callie," I say, emotion filling my voice. "We're so glad you're home."

"Me too," she whispers. "I…" she's struggling with the words, so I sit quietly and let her sort it out. "I've never felt like that before. Like...Jude and I, we've run before. We've moved from place to place, and not once has leaving felt so awful as leaving here did. I was miserable," she says earnestly, looking up into my face. "I was miserable the whole time."

I can't stop myself. "Good," I say. "I want you to stay here forever."

Callie nestles her head into my arm, and it feels wonderful.

* * *

We spend the rest of the afternoon lounging around the house. Though I'm glad that Stef and I made the decision to get the other kids out of the house before she and Callie came home, I know from her restless shifting that Callie wants to see everyone, especially Jude. I, on the other hand, am perfectly content to hang out with my girls, watching movies and eating junk.

We order take-out for dinner, and Stef and I are curled up together with Callie tucked into my side. As the latest movie - some cheesy pay-per-view romcom - winds down, Callie squirms away from me and stands up.

"Um, I'm gonna go take a bath," she says. "I feel all grimy."

"Okay, babe," Stef says nonchalantly. "We'll be up in a little while."

Stef and I clear off the coffee table, throwing away empty paper cartons and putting leftovers in the fridge. When we go upstairs, I can't help but sneak past the kids' bathroom, hoping to hear Callie moving around.

"Lena," Stef hisses warningly at me, but I can't help myself. When I press my ear up against the door, though, I hear a faint choking noise.

Frowning, I listen more closely, and hear it again. Then I realize it's not choking, but someone trying to muffle their sobs. My heart breaks.

"I'll be in in a minute," I whisper to Stef, who throws up her hands in exasperation.

I knock softly on the door, and the crying stops, but Callie doesn't answer. I knock again.

"Yes?" She asks feebly.

"Can I come in?"

There's a pause, but no answer, so I poke my head in. Callie's hunched over, knees to her chest, and she turns her head to the side to look at me.

"Okay," she says, and I step in to the room.

"What's the matter, pretty girl?"

She looks so fragile, staring up at me from the depths of the tub. When she doesn't answer, I pull up the old milking stool we've had in their bathroom since the kids were little and grab a cup from the cabinet by the sink.

"Did you wash your hair already?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

"Do you mind if I do, then?"

Another shake. I come over beside her and sit on the stool, and a hand automatically goes out to stroke her shoulder.

"Don't look at me," Callie pleads in a whisper, and her entire body is shaking.

"You don't have to be embarrassed, sweetheart," I tell her, trying to be brave for both our sakes. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

I take her shampoo bottle and squirt a bit of sweet-smelling goo into my palm. I rub my hands together for a second, then begin to lather Callie's dark, shiny hair. She's still huddled into herself, and I just want her to feel safe, so I begin to weave a story.

"You know, when Mariana and Jesus first came to stay with us, he was the only person she'd talk to. She couldn't even look at us most of the time. He was her mouthpiece, much like you've been for Jude. He looked out for her, and took care of her."

I pull my fingers slowly through each of the knots in her hair. She doesn't flinch, but I go gently anyway. Once her hair lies flat, I move from the ends of her hair to her scalp. She gives a tiny, but happy, moan when I massage my fingers into her head, and I smile.

"But one day, out of the blue, instead of handing Jesus the shampoo bottle, she gave it to me instead. I was so afraid I was going to spook her or make her feel uncomfortable, so I went slowly. Lean your head back a little?"

Callie does as I ask, and I shield her eyes with one hand while filling the cup with my other and pouring it over her head. I repeat a few times until I'm sure all the suds are out, and then I reach for the conditioner.

"Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, Miss Thing was not pleased that I wasn't doing things exactly the way she'd become accustomed to. So she began to direct me; she would point out what I was doing wrong, and tell Jesus to show me how to do it right."

Callie doesn't laugh, but I can hear the smile in her voice as she says, "Yeah, that sounds like Mariana."

"Well, once we got her to _start_ talking, we never got her to stop," I joke. I smooth the creamy gel through Callie's hair, and dip my hands in the water to clean them. "But she was scared of us, too."

"I know," Callie says softly. "She still is."

"What?" I ask. That can't be right.

"I, um…" Callie balks. "I wasn't supposed to say anything. I mean, you know-well, I guess you don't. Some kids who were fosters before they got adopted, they...kinda have issues adjusting. Mariana pretends like she's all accustomed to this life, but she's afraid you're gonna change your minds."

"How do you know that? Did she tell you that?" I am stunned.

"I heard her and your mom talking, actually. She thinks that, 'cause of all the lying about Ana and stuff, that you aren't gonna love her anymore."

My heart hurts. "Why didn't my mom tell me this?"

"Maybe because she didn't want your feelings to get hurt. It isn't about you, Lena," Callie says quietly. "She knows she hurt you, and she knows it's her actions that put Stef in that house to get shot. She's just afraid that you're gonna decide she isn't worth it. We all are."

"But, I-" I know it took me longer than it should have to forgive the twins, especially Mariana. But I talked to her, at the hospital, and told her we'd love her no matter what.

"I know," Callie says. "Like I said, it's not about you. When all you've ever been told is that you're worthless, sometimes it takes more than two people saying you're not to turn your brain around."

"You know we'd never do that, right?" I ask, mostly to reassure myself. "We'd never turn our backs on any one of our kids - Brandon, you and Jude, or the twins. _Never_."

Callie smiles a little. "Yeah, Stef said something like that. Up here, I know that," she says, tapping her head with her pointer finger. "But sometimes my heart plays tricks on me."

"Well, we'll have to work on that."

"Yeah," she says softly. "_We_."


	5. Shine

oh, wow. it's really the end :(

i've had so much fun writing this – writing is super cathartic, you should try it some time – but you guys made it a thousand times more worth my while. seriously, reading your praise and criticism and feedback always makes my heart sing, and you are just the best readers a girl could ask for. thank you, thank you, for your sweet words, and all the follows and favorites and page views.

special shoutout to **Black Lithning**, **CallieJacobs**, **Ladybug07**, **la lisboa**, **Lavender Angel**, **MeryGFos**, and **obsessedatopia**, among others, who are always around to talk or bounce ideas off of and are generally just stellar ladies. love ya, peeps.**  
**

peace out, homies; catch you on the flip! hope y'all enjoy :)

xox, ~*starophie*~

* * *

_In unending storms, we search for space to breathe/How our hearts are worn, we've come so far  
In this desert, how we blossom and we cease/Tell your story now, we have so much to know  
Shine with all the untold/Hold the light given unto you  
Find the love to unfold/In this broken world we choose_

~ Vienna Teng, "Shine"

* * *

God, I have never written longhand for this...well, this long in my life. I kept meaning to finish my lines, just so I could get them out of the way, but I was kept pretty busy for someone who was supposedly grounded – sorry, on _restriction_.

I am thankful that Stef and Lena made sure all the kids were out of the house when I got home, because it was nice to just have the moms to myself. Not that I'd ever admit it, but it definitely wouldn't hurt to be an only child every so often. Of course, when everyone came back, there were many family fun nights (and days) to be had.

Lena had to literally pry Jude from my side – when he got back from Connor's, he launched himself at me and glued his arms to my waist. I love my brother, but I _really_ needed to go to the bathroom, and...yeah, it was not pretty. Mariana and I had to have a little talk about stalker-like behaviors, after she sat up all night watching me.

I smile as I think about that, leaning back into the pillows on my bed. My fingers idly trace the washi tape around some of my favorite Instagram shots, and I grin at the latest addition to my wall. The one right by the head of my bed is a candid picture I got of my…family, when we went bowling (Stef and Lena claimed that since the shoes were rented, it didn't count towards my restriction. Some hardcore disciplinarians they turned out to be). We did girls vs. boys, which the boys claimed was unfair since there were less of them and also the girls got both moms, but then Jesus piped up that they could still win. Of course, Stef is one of the most competitive people on the planet, and I'll admit to having a bit of a feisty streak myself. Not to mention that Mariana and Lena are no slouches in the bowling department.

Needless to say, we kicked their collective asses, and as Lena went over to shake hands and be a good sport, Stef grabbed Jesus and started to give him a noogie. Mariana latched onto Jude and started tickling him, and so the picture is of Brandon and Lena shaking their heads and laughing as Stef's got Jesus in a headlock and Jude is trying to get away from Mariana's attack.

I turn back to the notebook in my lap. The pages are rumpled and ridged, in the way that only solid handwriting can produce. It's almost satisfying to run my fingers over the raised characters and know that my frustration and sorrow and penitence is poured into every single one of them. And as to the lines themselves, in a weird way, I was really touched that all of the Fosters had something they wanted me to know. The point of the lines was to remind me that I've got a support system in place, now, and I don't have to run from my problems anymore. It really worked, which I can freely admit. Each of them wrote me a line, so when I was copying them, I heard each of their voices in my head giving me what-for.

_Callie – keep this list around, and when you need a reminder that we're all here for you, take it out and read it. Otherwise, come down the hall and we'll tell you ourselves. Hopefully, sometime soon you'll be able to say you know when we tell you we love you._

_We love you. Stef & Lena_

_1. I will choose 'fight' instead of 'flight'. (Stef)  
2. I won't blame myself for things other people did. (Jude)  
3. I won't give up on a good thing. (Brandon)  
4. I won't ditch my siblings again. (Jesus)  
5. I won't keep stuff bottled up inside. (Mariana)  
6. I will remember that I am so loved. (Lena)_

I finish the last line and tear the paper out of my notebook. It feels good to be done, and a small part of me wants to rip up Lena's carefully written list, but a bigger part of me wants to keep it with me all the time, like a security blanket. I settle on a compromise, and refold the yellow lined sheet and put it under my pillow. Maybe the words will seep into my brain at night, via osmosis, and it'll be easier for me to remember. At least, I'll know where it is if I need it.

Today is the last day of my restriction, and as a "celebration," Stef and Lena and I have our first session with the therapist. I've seen a few shrinks in my time, each less helpful and comfortable than the last, so I'm really expecting the worst from this woman. Her name is Dr. Moore, according to Stef, and they went to see her last week without me. I guess it's her policy to meet the parents before meeting the kid, which is a bit strange, but I trust Stef and Lena enough to believe that we would not be going to see her today if she didn't pass muster with them. I'm also relieved that they'll be with me the whole time, because all other therapy sessions I've been to before have been with a bunch of kids or just me and the doc, and I hope that having them present will keep this lady in line.

I pull on a pair of socks and call for Stef.

"Can I have my Chucks back?" I whine, teasingly, but I'm almost serious. It's been forever since I've been allowed to wear anything but these cheap flip-flop wannabes that Lena and Mariana swiped from the nail salon. It's almost embarrassing to admit that I've worn them in public, but Lena needed me and Jude to go to the grocery store with her for some reason, and there have been a couple places I've been needed to step into before taking off shoes or putting new ones on.

"Here, here," Stef grumbles, tossing the ratty old sneaks into my lap. I pull one foot onto the chair in the living room to pull on my shoe, and then do the same with the other before bending over to tie them.

"Ahh," I sigh, quirking a sassy smirk at Stef. She swats me, but she's laughing.

"I hope that teaches you a lesson, missy," she quips.

"Oh! Speaking of, I almost forgot," I say, handing her the roughly folded loose-leaf sheets from my back pocket. "I just finished. I hope they didn't have to be neat, 'cause like...my hand got tired." I smile brightly at her, and duck out of the way of another swat.

"Brat," Stef mutters, and I shift from giggling to sober as she starts looking through the papers. Her fingers trace lightly over a few lines that are a little puckered, and I swallow an awkward apology.

"You okay?" she asks me.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She squeezes my forearm, a little too hard, and tears sting my eyes.

"We love you, sweets," she whispers, and I can tell she's trying not to cry.

I nod again, and she sighs.

"Lena! You ready to go, babe?"

"Coming! Is Callie-oh, Callie!" Lena smiles at me from the stairs. "I didn't know if you were already down here. Stef, are you driving?"

Stef answers in the affirmative, and grabs the keys off the hall table as Lena adjusts her purse. I stuff my hands into my pants pockets and let the moms lead the way out the door.

The car ride is mostly silent, peppered with the occasional note about a radio song or comment on the scenery. I am dreading each moment as it passes, because it means being one second closer to meeting the therapist. I breathe deeply to try and calm down, and it helps marginally. I decide that marginally is better than nothing, and lean against the seat until Stef pulls into the garage and we're getting out and going inside. Lena's finger finds Mary Moore, Suite 308, on the felt signboard, and we head into the elevator to get to the third floor.

The elevator dings, and Lena is first out the door. I smile a bit to myself as I notice that Stef steps aside to let her pass. I don't think I've ever seen chivalry from foster parents – not even my parents – and it tickles me that the first civil couple (let alone in love) I've met is gay. Stef raises her eyebrow at me, and I realize she's waiting for me to get out as well. I bite my lip and scurry past her, meeting Lena at the end of the hall.

"You ready, pretty girl?" Lena asks me, and I nod even though I'm still unsure. She opens the suite door, and we're in a small, but nicely-appointed, waiting room. I pick out a chair, Lena grabs a magazine, and Stef sits in between Lena and me, holding both our hands.

"See you next week, Mary," a woman's voice says, and I hear a pleasant goodbye as a petite, dark-haired woman closes the office door behind her. She smiles briefly at me and exits out the suite door. Too soon, the office door reopens, and a gray-haired woman with a kind face is standing before me.

"You must be Callie," she says, holding a hand out to me. I nod, stand, and accept her palm in a shake. "I'm Mary."

"Hi," I say, feeling shy. I almost laugh, because it's so strange to me to be meeting all these adults who insist that I address them by their first names – but the humor fades quickly, because Mary is ushering us into her office and I am plopping down on a soft cushion. Her office is like no therapist's I've ever seen – I've only ever been in big, clinical rooms with vinyl-covered seats and garish posters and reinforced windows. This feels like a home, and I fiddle with a pillow tassel while Mary introduces herself.

"Do you know what a psychologist does?" she asks. I'm a little offended, and I nod slowly.

"I mean, you're a shrink, right?" I ask. "You want me to talk to you."

She laughs, but not meanly. "Yes, that would be preferable to sitting in silence. But I mean a psychologist, specifically, as opposed to a psychiatrist."

"Oh," I frown. "Um, then no, I guess not."

"Well, I have a Ph.D," she says. "I don't have an MD, which would make me a medical doctor. Technically, can be referred to as Dr. Such-and-Such, but to me it feels phony."

"To me, too," Lena butts in.

"Right," Mary nods. "And Lena and I both have in psychology, though hers is in children's psych and mine is in adolescent and adult."

"So wait, if you're not an MD, you can't, like, drug me?" I feel kinda stupid asking, but I know some foster kids who've been almost zombified by their foster parents – totally tripped out on stuff like Ritalin and Xanax and practically comatose all the time. They tried to put me on some of that stuff in Juvie, but the shrink they sent me to told them that I didn't need anything.

"No, definitely not," she says, and I relax. "I could potentially refer you to a psychiatrist I'm friendly with, who deals with a lot of my patients, but–" I feel my eyes widen in fear. "_But_ she really doesn't like to medicate," Mary says quickly. "Maybe half of the kids she sees end up on medication? She does a thorough diagnostic assessment first, and sometimes does a trial for a few weeks to see if something works or not. But she would never over-medicate you, and she would never recommend a drug if she didn't think it might be useful."

I nod, taking that all in.

"I'm a family therapist, which means that I mostly deal with young adults and their parents," she continues. "I also deal with disordered eating, self-harm, anxiety, and depression. All of those things can mix in conjunction with one another, or they can be separate issues. Before we begin, can you tell me a bit about your history? If you'd like, I can have Stef and Lena step out," she offers.

_That's nice_, I think. "No," I shake my head. "They can stay." I take a breath. "Well, I've been in foster care for six years. I have a little brother, Jude, and I've been taking care of him for longer than we've been in the system. He's really important to me." Mary is nodding, and I sit back a little on the sofa. "Um…I guess we're here because I ran away a couple weeks ago?"

Stef opens her mouth to jump in, but Mary cuts her off. "No, Callie," she says softly. "This isn't a punishment – at least, it's not supposed to be." She laughs a little at her own joke. "No, we're here because your foster moms would like to get to know you a little better. They feel that conversations that are a tad more painful would be easier with a facilitator. Also, as you're still technically on probation, therapy is required, and Lena mentioned to me that your previous group was a touch...out of hand."

I look at Lena, and she smiles somewhat bashfully. "I'm sorry," she says, "that we didn't get you out of there sooner. Bill promised me he'd try and speed the process along, but it was taking forever, and then Dr. Kodema wanted to meet about why we wanted you out of her group, and…" She runs a hand through her hair, and I smirk a little at the frustrated grimace on her face. "I shouldn't have let you make it sound as good as it was," she scolds, but I can tell she's teasing. She shivers, and I laugh.

"She wasn't the best I've had, but she's not the worst either," I shrug.

"You've been in therapy before?" Mary prompts.

"Mm-hmm," I nod. "Yeah, a couple foster groups, and a couple individual sessions. Most individual stuff didn't last long, though."

"Why not?"

I blush and shift uncomfortably. "Usually 'cause I moved out of the house pretty soon after," I admit. "I think the therapists ratted on me, or talked to CPS or something. That was mostly when I was younger, and I had a bad habit of oversharing," I say self-deprecatingly.

"What does that mean?" Mary asks.

_Here it comes_. "Um…well, sometimes I'd tell the shrink about the foster parents," I say, edging around the truth.

"Like what?"

"Like…that they were mean to Jude and me," I say stiltedly. "Like, you know, that they'd yell at us and hit me and stuff."

The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I'm saying, and I wish desperately for a vacuum so I can suck them up and shove them back down my throat. I shut my eyes tightly and curl up automatically.

"Callie," Lena's soft voice comes through. "Callie, honey, can you come back out?" She's rubbing soft circles on my back, and I slowly de-armadillo and return to a sitting position.

"Callie, are you saying that you've been in abusive foster homes before?" Mary asks gently.

Feeling sick, I nod.

"How many, would you say? One? Two?"

"Almost all of them, except the Fosters," I mumble. I wince when I hear Lena's gasp, and then I hear Stef murmuring softly to her. I'm glad I talked to Stef in Indiana, because at least one foster parent is not totally caught off-guard.

"I knew it would be a lot," Lena whispers, "but I didn't think it would be _all_ of them."

"How many foster homes have you been in, Callie?" Mary questions.

"Six years, seven schools, eight placements," I list, chanting the sick nursery rhyme of my life. "Jude and I have been bounced around from house to house like Superballs, just waiting to hit the brick so we can start over."

"Not anymore," Stef interrupts.

I shake my head at her. "No, I guess not anymore," I agree. I still feel weird thinking that the Fosters are permanent, after all I've done…I thought for sure that running away would have been the last straw. And then I thought for sure that admitting the horrors of my past would've been it, but I guess not that, either.

I wish I had my list with me.

Mary asks me to talk a little bit more about the abuse, and before I know it, everyone but me is in tears. I feel so numb, and I don't know if I like it or not. This is not…for the longest time, I didn't know that this kind of thing didn't happen to other people. This was my life for almost sixteen years, and now that I'm with the Fosters, I'm finally starting to realize that beating and starvation _doesn't_ happen to everybody. I haven't asked Mariana and Jesus about their experience, but they were only in the system for a few years, when they were pretty little.

And then the session is over. "We'll continue this next week," Mary is saying, handing Stef and Lena the tissue box. "Callie, can I talk to you for a minute? We won't be long," she tells the moms. They grab their Kleenex and stand, Stef giving me a friendly squeeze as she passes.

My stomach is knotted, and I'm afraid I've done something wrong.

"You're not in trouble, Callie," Mary smiles, correctly interpreting my expression. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot," I reply, still a bit nervous.

"Do you write? Like, in a journal?"

"Um, I mean, sometimes? Mostly for my English class, but…yeah, I guess."

"Do you like to write?"

I nod. "Sure. I mean, sometimes it's hard to figure out what to say, but…my teacher, Timothy, says that writing is a hostile act. Well, Joan Didion said that, but Timothy is the one who told me about her," I blush. "And sometimes it…well, it feels good to be hostile."

Mary grins. "I agree. Well, that's good that you like it, because I was hoping that maybe you could write something to share for next week."

"Okay?" I'm confused, and Mary nods.

"I noticed today that you seem to be unsure of yourself when you speak. I think that maybe if you write something down, you'll find it easier to speak your mind."

That makes sense, but I am still nervous. "What do you want me to write about?"

"Anything you've wanted to share with Stef and Lena, but haven't been able to," Mary says. "Maybe you can talk a little about why you decided to run away," she says, and before I can mention Brandon, she gives me a knowing look that dries the words on my tongue.

"I'll see you next week, Callie," she says as she ushers me to the door.

"Bye," I say quietly. I swallow hard, and smile at the moms. "You ready?"

"Let's go home, my babies," Stef says, kissing Lena softly and pushing us both from the suite.

* * *

My leg bounces up and down like a see-saw, my feet tapping out a rhythm only I can hear. I have folded and unfolded and refolded the sheet of notebook paper in my hands so many times that the creases are starting to tear.

I feel both Stef and Lena's eyes on me, but I'm too nervous to care much. I did what Mary asked me to do, but I'm not sure that it helped me much at all. I'm still terrified of revealing myself.

"Hello, ladies," Mary's voice startles me, and I jump out of my seat.

"Hi, Dr. Moore," Stef greets her.

"Please, Stef, it's Mary," Mary corrects gently. Lena and I say hello as well, and follow her and Stef into the office.

I take the corner chaise, while Stef and Lena sit on the small couch. Mary's armchair faces me, and Stef and Lena look at us in profile. I pull my legs up beneath me and grasp my paper tightly in my fists.

"Before we continue our discussion from last week," Mary starts, eyeing me expectantly, "I believe Callie has something to share. Is that correct?"

I nod. "Mm-hmm," I mumble.

"Whenever you're ready, Callie."

Stef and Lena's eyes are on me, again, and I unclench my balled-up hands and unfurl my paper.

"Dear Moms," I read, my voice already trembling. "It's hard for me to write that name, because I haven't called you that yet and I wish I could. I feel so guilty for not...I, I _want_ to be able to call you that," I say, "but I can't. I mean, I had a mom, once - it was years ago now, but I still remember her. And I can't help but feel like saying that – using that name again – it's like it invalidates everything she was for me. Everything she is."

I continue, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "But maybe that's stupid. Because on the one hand, she was my _mom_. She took care of me and protected me. But on the other, she didn't protect me at all. She brought me into this cold, hellish world, and from my very first breath I was marked. I told you once I was just an easy target, but I've always been that way. It should've been me that got shot, Stef, not you – because I'm the one they're aiming for."

I take a slow, shuddering breath, determined to carry on even through my tears. "You guys don't know what it's like to have _nothing_," I whisper. "Jude and I do. And I always put myself in front of him; I dodge the bullets, I miss the arrows, and I catch the darts. Sometimes I get hit, but I'm never grievously injured. So when I saw that everything seemed to be coming apart, I figured I might as well get out of the way, because maybe then they'd come after me instead of you. I always screw everything up, and I didn't want you to hurt anymore."

_I didn't want to hurt you anymore,_ is what I leave unsaid. Mary passes me a tissue, and with an embarrassed smile, I take it and scrub my eyes. "I didn't know what to do, so I ran," I say weakly. "I couldn't bear for you to make me leave, so I did it on my own terms. And I get now that it was stupid, and selfish, and ultimately futile, but at the time I thought…I guess I thought it would be easier, for everyone, if I left. Maybe especially for me. Your family is the first one, ever, that has made me feel like I _mean_ something. And meaning something is hard, because then you have to care. I didn't want to care about you guys," I say, "but I _do_, and running didn't change that."

I'm afraid to look up, because I hear Lena crying softly and I know Stef's eyes must be setting me on fire. I'm at the last paragraph, so I push through the pain and finish what I started. "I have loved every minute of living in your house. Honestly, I have, even when I didn't show it. I don't think I've ever been more sure of my safety – and more importantly, Jude's – in my whole entire life. And on top of that, I felt _happy_. Like there was a place to come back to that truly wanted me to come back. I know I've screwed up, probably irrevocably, but even so, I had to say that I've never wanted anything more than I want you guys to be proud of me."

My hands are shaking, and my eyes are blurred with emotion, but I know this last line by heart. I crossed it out and rewrote it so many times that my hand started to cramp up, but I finally put it in there because I figured there was nothing else to lose.

"Love always, Callie."

I stare at the paper in my hands, the flimsy white sheet growing more puckered and damp as my tears plop down on it. No one is speaking, but then there are two new depressions on the couch – one on either side of me. And suddenly, I am engulfed in what can only be called a mamasandwich.

"We love you too, Callie," Lena whispers thickly.

"God, Callie, we love you so much." Stef presses kisses along my hairline, and Lena reverse-snuggles me into her shoulder.

"So, we're okay?" I'm almost afraid of the answer, but I figure if they're hugging me like this, they can't be _mad_…right?

"Of course we are," Stef says, tone verging on offense.

"You're ours, pretty girl," Lena promises. "And we're yours. Forever."

_Forever sounds pretty nice_.

**FIN**


End file.
